Rest In Peace
by J Daisy
Summary: No man has the right to pass through this world without leaving footprints signifying that he has left something behind. But what happens when two people find out that the same set of footprints have crossed both their paths? WilsonCam. [Complete.]
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything_

_Author's Note…Yay! A new story! It's so bright and shiny and pretty! Sorry about the Cain and Abel story…I know it's really distorted and I think I addressed its distortion in the story but please don't be offended if I get it wrong. I researched it and this was how I interpreted it. Actually, the point is that it is wrong. You'll get it when you read it/ Ok, please review if you're interested in this…and now, _**Rest In Peace**_…_

**"Probable impossibilities are to be preferred to improbable possibilities."**

**-Aristotle**

House tapped the whiteboard with his cane. Fifteen minutes into it, and this case was already boring him. "Twin boys. Two days old. There's Cain, he's the normal one. And then there's Abel. Cain's not too fond of Abel. You see, back when the kiddies were in womb, Cain was a good little fetus. Rarely kicked, gave Abel most of the nutrients. He knew that once the duo was out of that birth canal, everything would be different. Because Abel, well, Abel was a wild child. A crazy baby. An "overly zealous" fetus. A germ sperm. And then there was Eve. Or G/d. We all know…actually, I'm going to stop myself from making a sexist statement. No pictures please. Anyway, Eve decided she has a craving for a sacrifice. So Cain brings her his harvest. And Abel brings her his lamb. Eve is thrilled with the lamb and who can blame her? But she is not too happy with the harvest. Actually, she's pretty mad about it and demands blood. Cain gets so mad that he kills Abel. Then Eve's all "where's your brother?" Eve's not too bright, but that's beside the point. Anyway, Cain is afraid to tell her the truth so he tells Eve that he's not his brother's keeper. Eve knows better and gets mad at Cain for lying to her. She hasn't figured out that everyone lies. So Abel's dead, and when Cain is born, he's born with a whole host of problems. But alls well that ends well, for as the Good Book says, Adam and Eve had many other sons and daughters."

The team, plus Wilson, blinked. This was by far the most bizarre and twisted thing House had ever told them. Finally, Chase spoke. "That's not how the story goes at all. When Cain killed Abel, they were both young adults and Cain was Abel's older brother and…"

Wilson glanced at his watch. He had his own patients to treat; Mrs. Hennessey was coming in to meet him in half an hour. "House, I'm not interested in the Bible. Just tell us the symptoms."

"Fine, but you're going straight to Hell for that." Wilson rolled his eyes. "Ok, mom-to-be finds out she's pregnant with twin boys, two days ago she gives birth after carrying them to term, and one of the infants is fine. The other presented microcephaly, excessive body hair, was missing his right thumb, was born pretty small, has heart defects, and has inward deviation of the pinkies. Yesterday, he had a seizure. Ready…set…diagnose!"

Foreman made a small sound of sympathy but produced nothing. Wilson put his head in his hands and thought. Chase tapped his fingers hard against the table. After a few moments of silence, Cameron finally came up with something. "Cornelia de Lange Syndrome. Explains everything."

House nodded, obviously impressed. "Start a clinical diagnosis with a genetics specialist, and get him on Felbamate for the seizure." House picked up the three straws that were lying on his desk and held them in his fist. "Short straw tells the parents."

It was Cameron, but Wilson knew even she, with all her issues, had it easy. Cameron didn't have to tell the brother.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Wilson cradled the blue bundle in his arms. Bryan. That was his brother's name. It meant strong one.

He could only hope the name held true.

"Hey." It was a female voice, soft and comforting, and his ears welcomed it.

"Bad day for you, too?"

Cameron shrugged tiredly. "He's just a little baby and he's so defenseless. I wish we could do more than just diagnose him."

Wilson nodded. He understood perfectly. "There's no cure. We did all we could do. So, you got any brothers?"

Cameron smiled. The topic change was a relief. "I've got four. They're all older than me, and they are the sole reason I know everything there is to know about hockey. They're also the sole reason I hate hockey. What about you?"

"I've got an older brother. Mike." Wilson shifted his feet and put Bryan down. It was time to tell somebody. "And I had a younger brother." He turned to face Cameron. "His name was Bryan."

Cameron's stomach gave a jolt. "Was?"

Wilson nodded. "He left; about ten years ago. My parents were pressuring him to go to medical school, like my mom and dad. Mike had just finished and I had just begun. But he didn't want to be a doctor. He wanted to teach. Third grade."

_The best age to teach. _Neither of them noticed House had walked in and was listening to the entire conversation.

"He said they were the best age to teach. Anyway, my parents were…really rigid with it. It was all or nothing. They gave him an alma mater. I didn't understand what was going on at the time…I thought they just wouldn't pay for school. But it was everything. He didn't tell us where he went but I doubt it was college. There was no way he could have afforded it. And how could he have managed a scholarship? There was no way. We haven't heard from him since."

_No. No. No, no, no, no, no. There's no way. It can't be. The world is too big. This is some coincidence, or some sick joke or something. It's impossible for his Bryan Wilson to be my Bryan Wilson. There are a lot of Wilsons in the world. It's not an extremely uncommon name. _

_You're in denial. How many Bryan Wilson's existed in the tri-state area that had "no family" and wanted to be third-grade teachers because they're the best age? This can't be happening. This can't be happening. The world can't be that small. The world can't be that cruel._

"Cameron?"

Cameron's head jerked up. "Yeah, yeah. I just…I…oh, no." She clutched her stomach and slapped her hand over her mouth. Cameron ran out from the room and nearly slammed House into the wall. He was going to ask Wilson about what he had just overheard but his temporary ESP kicked in and he sensed that it was best to leave him alone. Besides, he had a feeling that something much more interesting would happen if he followed Cameron.

He found her sitting on the floor in the women's bathroom, leaning against a stall door. There were little scratches in the paint, small messages. He couldn't believe Cuddy let this happen in her hospital, but there it was for all to see. A metal newspaper.

House was about to say something when Cameron leaned over and retched into the toilet. When she was done, she looked up at House with sad eyes. House barely needed to ask. "You knew Wilson's brother?"

Cameron stood up. "Yup."

"Is he alive?"

Cameron shook her head. "Nope."

"How did you know him?"

Cameron looked him in the eye. She was practically sobbing. "I married him."

**XXXxxxXXX**

_Author's Note…Yup! Cameron's long-dead husband is also Wilson's long-lost (and dead) brother! Ok, if you're interested, please review. And if you're not, review just to say it's not worth continuing it. Thanks! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything_

_Author's Note…13 reviews! Wow! Thank you so much!_

"**Love does not die. Time cannot kill it, nor many miles, nor even death."**

**-Anonymous**

Cameron clutched her wedding album in her hands. White knuckles and pale face. Her feet were curled under her and her face was still tear-streaked because she had never really stopped crying. Cameron tucked a rebellious lock of hair behind her hear and slowly flipped through the pages, indulging in the memories of being oblivious to the fact that she lived in a very small world, so small that anything she did, from the smallest infraction to the biggest union, would come back and bite her in the ass. Even if it wasn't a bad thing. Even if it seemed right.

Her favorite part wasn't even the pictures. It was the note Bryan had taped on the inside cover. Cameron had no idea how he got it there because the album hadn't been finished until after he had…passed. In reality, Bryan had sent it to the photographer after he had abandoned all hope that he would live past the timeline his doctor had given him. It still gave Cameron goosebumps.

_Dear Allie,_

_I know it's cliché to start out a letter like this, but by the time you read this, I will be dead. It's scary…I don't know how to describe it. There are a lot of things I didn't get done and won't get done. Becoming a teacher, reconciling with my family, moving us to a condo in Florida on our 50th wedding anniversary, raising our child…although I know you'll do a good job of that. I have faith in you, Allie. _

_I'm so glad I met you. Everything from my cheesy pick-up line to…I don't know how it's going to end. But it's been perfect. I wouldn't change a thing, except for more time. That's all I really want; you've given me so much. _

_I love you…Bryan_

It was short and sweet. Bryan was never one to draw things out and complicate them. It was better that way…things complicated themselves enough.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Except for it being the afterlife, the next day at work was hell in all meanings of the word. The team's patient had a cancer so blatantly obvious, it was a wonder that the case had been referred to them at all. Nevertheless, it meant that Wilson spent most of the day with them (did that man _ever_ work?) and as if that wasn't torturous enough, House kept sending meaningful looks to Cameron. He wanted her to tell him, but she wasn't ready yet. What did it matter if she told him today or tomorrow or next week? Waiting didn't make his body any less colder in the ground and waiting didn't add to or take away any of the time Wilson had had with his brother.

Meanwhile, Wilson knew he had spent too much time thinking about last night's events. Not just the baby, but also Cameron. She would have normally thought his opening up to her was huge and would have wanted to divulge into it, but she couldn't have left that room fast enough. And what was up with House? He kept forcing them to be alone in the same room together for stupid and bizarre reasons that made it extremely clear that Cameron needed to talk to Wilson about something but wasn't going to. And it had to be important too…the things House had said to him as he pushed him into the lab where Cameron was working _(I'm addicted to Vicoden. Discuss.)_. Cameron had hurriedly excused herself saying she was due in the clinic, leaving Wilson feeling more alone than ever.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Apparently, House thought it was fitting that since Cameron was avoiding Wilson, she had to suffer. He also thought it was funny to switch patients with her so he got a young, voluptuous woman who had a mole on her thigh and so that she got a thirteen year old girl who was having trouble inserting her first tampon. _The hilarity. _

House was waiting for her to get out, but in vain because when she finally did, Cameron walked right past him. House rolled his eyes; he had no time for this. _"Oh, Dr. Cameron!"_

Cameron swiveled on her small heel. "What?"

"Have fun shoving the devil's cotton fingers up that kid's…?"

"House!" Cuddy was making her way over to the two, her face looking angrier than House had ever seen it. And he knew angry. "What is wrong with you! We're in a crowded clinic here!"

"You're just offended because you have your own pack."

"As do many of the women here! Are you trying to close this hospital down?"

"I'm not _trying _to, but if such an event happens then…oh, look what you've done!"

Cuddy looked around. She didn't see anything _too_ out of order. "What did I do?"

"Now I've lost her!"

"Lost who?"

"_Cameron! _Who knows where she went!"

"Up the stairs, I just saw her. Why do you care?"

"Up the stairs? I _did not _see that side of her. Very clever, I'll give her that. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"No! You still have another hour left today. Actually, maybe you should just go home. You're not really making any sense and having a mentally impaired doctor _would_ make the hospital liable for…you know what? Just go home. You'll make up the hour some other day. Get a good rest."

The day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Cameron had made it only half-way up the stairs. By the time she reached the third stairwell, she gave up and sat down on the cold floor. Putting her head in her hands, she let the tears come. First, they were slow and gentle and felt good. Then, they had more power and force and took up a lot of energy. Finally, they became sobs that wracked her body and left her exhausted.

Though she would have _loved_ to get a blanket and go to sleep right then and there, she knew that she had to get back up to the office. Luckily, as soon as House saw her swollen eyes and wet face he correctly guessed why they were there and let her go home early. Chase considered throwing some water on his cheeks.

As Cameron drove home, she realized she had no idea where she was going. It wasn't until she pressed buzzed Apartment 6 and announced her presence that she understood she was at Wilson's place.

**XXXxxxXXX**

_Author's Note…Cliffhanger! Yeah, sorry to do that to you. Anyway, next up…Cameron tells Wilson and maybe some House/Cuddy pairing if reviews say so. I don't know how I feel about this chapter…I felt like it was missing something…it was really a transition/filler chapter so I guess it was…and all the events seem kind of random…anyway, please review and tell me if you think I need a beta (and someone please offer their services!) Thanks!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything_

_Author's Note…THANK YOU so much for all those AMAZING reviews! Keep 'em coming, please!_

"**To the dead we owe only truth."**

**-Voltaire**

In order to get beautiful women to his doorway, Wilson usually had to lure them there first. Sometimes he complimented them mercilessly, sometimes he pretended he was Romeo and she was Juliet, sometimes he listened and made sympathetic sounds and other times, he just stared off into space and made sympathetic sounds. Women liked the sympathetic sounds. But nevertheless, he had to do some kind of work to get them there.

Which was why Wilson was so surprised to find Allison Cameron on his doorstep and didn't hesitate at all to invite her in.

Cameron anxiously sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed her arms to rid herself of the goosebumps she had noticed hours ago. "You want a drink? Coke? I've got some wine, if you want."

Much as she wanted to get drunk this night, Cameron knew it would be stupid to be anything but sober. "Water will be fine."

"Water it is." Wilson rolled his eyes as he made his way into the kitchen. _If that's how she plays…_

"I came to talk to you about your brother," Cameron called out. Wilson dropped the cup he had been holding and stared at the shattered glass for a second. _Damn it. _Slowly, he walked back into the living room and sat down.

"Listen, I really don't…"

"I knew him," Cameron blurted out. Wilson rubbed his eyes. This was already hard.

"You…you knew him?"

Cameron nodded and held back tears. She really needed to stop crying. Maybe tomorrow.

"Is he…?"

"I'm so sorry." Cameron wished she had a better way of telling him this, but that was all she could manage. Her back straightened uncomfortably as she heard a muffled sob.

"Where is he buried?"

Finally, a question that didn't hurt to answer. "Short Hills Cemetery. It's a couple hours away."

Wilson knew the place. It was where his grandfather was buried. "How'd he…?"

Cameron chose her words carefully. She wasn't ready to admit that Bryan was her husband. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "He had cancer. It was originally in his thyroid, but it spread to his brain. But the time we…_he_ found out, it was too late. He died six months later."

"Cancer. I…I could have helped him."

Cameron couldn't help it. Her heart went out to him. "No, no you couldn't. Even if you had seen him every day, you wouldn't have been able to tell. Not until the last month, at least." _I couldn't. _

"No, I don't think you get it. I'm an oncologist. I would have known."

Cameron started to get angry. It shouldn't have surprised her. "No, you wouldn't have."

Wilson raised his blazing eyes to her teary eyes. All the sudden, he was furious at her. "Yes, I would."

"Oh, shut up, Wilson! This isn't about you!" As soon as she said it, Cameron slapped her hand to her mouth. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. _"I…I didn't mean that. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said…"

The room suddenly got very cold. Wilson stood up, barely making eye-contact. "I think you should go."

"But…"

"_Now."_

Cameron stood up and this time, she didn't even make an effort to wipe the tears.

**XXXxxxXXX**

The minute Cameron left, Wilson had thrown on his jacket, made a mad dash for the door, and got in his car. Turning up the radio as loud as he could, he sat there for a minute before he pulled out and drove at least twenty miles over the speed limit to the cemetery. He had to see this for himself; to know it was true. He didn't even realize the radio was tuned to static.

By the time he got there, it was near midnight. 11:48 to be exact. It took Wilson another half hour to even find the headstone, seeing as it was so dark and he had only the flashlight he kept in his car to aide him. Finally, he found it.

It was gray. That was the first thing he thought; that it was gray and it shouldn't be gray because that wasn't Bryan, that wasn't Bryan at all, Bryan was bright and colorful and no matter what he did or what anybody else did, his life was vibrant and beautiful. It was an insult to his existence that his memorial was gray.

In fact, the only thing that wasn't gray was the grass that peaked up around it and the small bundle of deep orange daisies at the foot of the tombstone. He wondered who put it there and how they knew him and how they knew that orange was his favorite color and why they didn't insist that his entire gravestone be orange. Maybe it was because they, like him, didn't know it existed in the first place.

Finally, Wilson summoned up enough strength to shine the flashlight on the grave itself. He silently challenged it: no way could it live up to the man it represented. It was physically impossible and any attempt could only be pathetic. Wilson shouted the message to himself. Anyone who was up at this ungodly hour to hear it should feel honored, not annoyed anyway.

_Bryan Jacob Wilson_

_1978-1999_

_Beloved Husband, Father, and Friend_

"_Life is not a journey to the grave with the intentions of a well-preserved body,_

_But rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up,_

_Totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming:_

_Wow! What a ride!"_

_-Always Missed, Never Forgotten-_

Wilson allowed himself a weak smile. This screamed Brian so loudly his ears must be ringing. It felt so weird downing that six feet under his feet lay his brother, pale and cold. Wilson's smile grew as he felt some of the burden being lifted off his chest and sat down. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. Slowly, he traced out the letters, letting the slight indents caress his finger.

His heart stopped when he got to the "beloveds". He was married. And he had a _child. _It was ironic; marriage was the one thing Wilson couldn't figure out that Bryan could…but it was Wilson that was alive to marry and remarry but Bryan would have been this woman and child for the rest of his life. Wilson had to find them, if it was the last thing he did.

It would be his liberation.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer…None of this is mine._

_Author's Note…Ok, I know in the show House checked Cameron's medical records and said that she never took folic acid so she must have never had a baby. I will address this issue in later chapters, as I will with Joe. And loads of thanks to **randomname** for beta-ing and for giving excellent name suggestions!_

**"The truth must not only be the truth-  
It must also be told."   
-Bahais**

_There he is. Tall and brown-haired and handsome and she's still in love with him. It's been six years but love isn't measured in seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, years. It's measured in golden eras, each one stretching to the next in an eternal chain. And for a while she thought that they had broken that chain; that their links had fallen apart._

But he's smiling at her and she's smiling at him and even though this can't be real it's right. They stand within an arm's width of each other. They're so close it's like they're breathing in each other's air. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It's no coincidence that an act that can bring a person back to life is really just kissing.

She stares at him. The opposite of time is death and death defies time and love defies death and all these thoughts are running through her head and all she can do is reach out her hand to touch his arm. And she's so close, so close, after all these years she's still so close to him. She's expecting to feel the familiar soft-dryness that only one person has but all the sudden he's gone. He's gone and she's screaming for him and she's screaming for her baby, her sweet little baby girl, and she's screaming for relief, any kind of relief from this eclipse but none comes, none at all, except the harsh transition from slumber to wakefulness.

Cameron sat straight up in bed. She hasn't had a dream like that for years. Tears streamed down her face as Cameron grabbed the nearest pillow for support. The rough material scratched her face, but she didn't feel it. Sighing, she lay back down and glanced at the clock, which glared 5:06. She eased herself out of bed and stared at the phone. One call is all it would take. The number was in her phone book. One call. One call. **_  
_**  
Tonight, she decided. Tonight would be the night.

**XXXxxxXXX**

".And she just drops this bomb on me, no sympathy, no support, no." 

House rolled his eyes at the idiot that was his friend. How could he not realize who Bryan's wife was? House glanced at his watch. He didn't want to deal with this. "Sorry to cut this short. Actually, I'm not, I'm quite happy to end this conversation, but anyway, I'm due at the clinic and I don't want to be late."

"What? You never want to go to the clinic." 

"I'm changing my ways. Snotty noses, anxious mothers, and old men needing prostate exams await me!" 

"Wait! So you have no idea where I could find this woman?" 

"Actually, I have a very good idea. You just don't deserve to hear it." 

"What! Why not!" 

"You have to be." House let his palm hover a couple inches over Wilson's head. ".This smart to know. Sorry. Maybe next year, kid."

"House!" 

"Fine, fine. I'll give you a hint. It'll be like a game. I spy, with my little eye, something that begins with 'C'!" 

"Come on." 

"Too hard for the wittle boy? Ok, wittle Wilson, we'll twy something easier. Who do you know that lost a husband and possibly a child?"****

Wilson rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. 

"Ok, who do you know that married someone she knew was going to die?" 

Still, nothing except eye-rolling. 

"My G/d, Wilson. How did you graduate sixth grade? I feel so bad for your patients. _What's this grayish mass in this here X-Ray? Could be a stain, could be a jelly donut. maybe something that starts with a 't'._ Ok, who works for me that's not Chase or Foreman? And you have to answer this one. Think really hard, but don't hurt yourself."

"Cameron, but… Cameron. Cameron! No. But. It can't be Cameron. That's impossible. That's ridiculous, that's--"

"I'll leave you to your rambling. Oh, Cuddy!"

**XXXxxxXXX**

It was just another day in the lab. The team didn't have a case, so Foreman was doing research, Chase was doing the crossword, and Cameron was running gels for a clinic patient of Chase's in exchange for coming up with an excuse to get her out of the room whenever Wilson entered. It was very peaceful and quiet. So, obviously, things were about to go wrong.

Cameron saw Wilson coming even before he burst through the glass doors. She didn't recognize the look on his face, but she certainly knew what it meant. She frantically elbowed Chase. "Think of something, think of something!" 

Chase figured out what she was talking about just as Wilson entered. "So, you'll check on that clinic patient for me now?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Cameron made a move to run out the doors, but Wilson shocked everyone by almost violently grabbing onto her lab coat. 

"No, you don't."

Foreman stood up. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like it. "Wilson, it's just a patient that might have a problem that Cameron would be able to solve better than Chase, that's it." His words were calm but his face was fierce.

Wilson ignored him. "Cameron, you knew him." 

She nodded while Foreman and Chase exchanged confused glances.

"How?" 

Nothing. 

"How!" 

"I married him." Cameron's voice was soft and meek, and it sounded as if it had holes in it. Like her voice box wasn't strong enough to support the words it was sending.

Dead. Silence. 

Dead. 

Finally, Foreman spoke. "You were married?" 

Wilson brushed the comment off for her. "Ask House." 

"But." 

"Ask. House." The two men took that as their cue to leave as Wilson and Cameron stared each other down. Finally, Wilson broke. "You could have told me. You could have spared me all this angst, all this heartache, but you didn't say anything. Not one word. And all this time. Cameron, why didn't you just tell me?" 

Cameron sniffled as she felt the prickling feeling that came with holding in tears. "I just-I just figured it out a couple days ago. And- and when I tried to tell you that I knew him. when I did tell you that I knew him you just got angry at me. I know that's a stupid and weak reason, but it's the truth. And Wilson, I was scared. I was so scared. I thought all those feelings were gone, that I had moved on, but all it took was to hear his name and… I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

Wilson tried not to show any emotion as Cameron sobbed a foot away from him. This was too much. He knew he should leave, but a nagging question kept him rooted to the spot. "Cameron. Cameron, I went to his grave last night. And I read it and- well, now I know he married you, but it said he was a father. He had a kid. But it's… you lost it right? It's dead too?" 

Cameron looked up and slowly shook her head. "No. She's alive."

**XXXxxxXXX**

Cameron stared at the phone as she tightly held the paper which the number was written on in her hand. If she could crush paper, this one would be dust. Dust to dust.

It was a public adoption agency, a state one. She had visitation rights but she had never used them. Not until now.

Carefully, she picked up the phone and began to dial. A cold sweat ran slowly down her forehead, her hand was shaking, and she had misdialed twice before she finally got the right number. It seemed that was what her whole life had been up to this point. Misdials; missteps. Mistakes.****

It rang for exactly forty-three seconds before someone picked up, giving Cameron just enough time to doubt this decision. She was only another two seconds away from hanging up. "Hello? My name is Allison Cameron. I would like to know the whereabouts of my daughter. I want to meet her."

**XXXxxxXXX**

_Author's Note. Names! Names! I need names! Put your suggestions in the review please!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything_

_Author's Note…Sorry for the delay in updates…it took a long time to write and beta this chapter. Ok, tell me what you think in your much-appreciated review (please, please, please!) Loads of thanks to my beautiful reviewers (no, I don't have anything on my nose, why do you ask?) and lots of loads to my lovely beta, **randomname**, who actually gave me the suggestion for the first name. What do you think of the choice?_

**"Anyone can become angry. That is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way;**

**That is not easy."**

**-Aristotle**

Cameron gently set the phone back on the receiver as if she was placing a newborn baby her mother's waiting arms. She made sure it sat perfectly on the cradle so it was comfortable. She kept it so that everything in her world was just right.

Cameron always thought it would be a good idea to make friends with the phone. Not the weird inanimate objects kind of friendship, but the kind where if you take care of something, it will do you favors. Cameron guessed this little quirk of hers had started in the ninth grade where she would dust the phone if only it would ring with Matt Thompson on the other end; traveled with her to college where she would cross her fingers whenever it rang, praying that it wasn't her mother telling her Cameron's grandmother had passed, and stayed with her since her husband had died.

Cameron was jerked out of her memory when the buzzer harshly rang through her apartment. She jumped at the sound of Wilson's voice, asking if he could come up. Of course she said yes, but she really wasn't in the mood for visitors. At least not visitors who didn't bring chocolate or pizza.

Wilson brought neither, but he did wear a defensive look on his ordinarily kind face, as if he were protecting something. Cameron guessed it was his heart.

As soon as he entered, Wilson crossed his arms over his chest; another defense-mechanism. He let his eyes roam the apartment, adjust to his surroundings. It looked comfortable enough. He smirked at the bra thrown hastily over the treadmill in the corner of the room. "That's Victoria's Secret, right?"

Cameron frowned. "If you came here just to ogle at my bras, go to House. He says he has magazines and as he's told us many a time, he never lies."

"That's not why I came here."

"Well then, why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

Cameron shrugged.

"He… Bryan. What did I miss?"

Cameron frowned. "I can't tell you everything. There's too much to tell."

"I have all night. And all day."

Cameron sat down, put her head in her hands, and closed her eyes as if drawing up some reserve. Finally, she looked back up at Wilson and motioned for him to sit down. "Where do I start?"

It only took a moment for Wilson to say what seemed like the obvious answer. "The beginning. How you met, I guess."

Of course.

**XXXxxxXXX**

_We met in a morgue. Isn't that funny? It's just so damn ironic and that kind of makes sense, in some weird, cosmic way. Everything about him, about us, about now, it all revolves around irony._

_At any rate, I was at a class there. I had just started medical school and it was my first time. I remember he said I was a morgue virgin when I told him. It's stupid, but I laughed._

_We were examining a body. I was with my friend Jamie, and she was just freaking out. Dead people, I guess. And, I didn't find this out until the next day, but he was upstairs and fifteen minutes before class began, he got his diagnosis: terminal. We- I know because he remembered the exact time and we kind of compared it. I guess we wanted to know what we had missed. Anyway, I don't know what exactly happened next, just bits and pieces of it, but he wanted to kind of escape. Who wouldn't? So he snuck into the morgue with my class._

_At first I didn't see him. He was behind us, and trying to keep a low-profile, I guess. That makes sense. And remember, class had just started. So Professor Ryner, our professor, pulled back the sheet on this one particular body. I remember exactly what he looked like-- he was young, about our age. He had brown hair and a little stubble. He actually looked a little bit like Bryan. Professor Ryner told us that authorities believed that his wife poisoned him, but they needed an autopsy to confirm it. I didn't know why we had to do it. We were just a bunch of students, right? But anyway, he called me up to start. I did everything I was supposed to, but when I got back to the spot I was standing in, my hands were shaking so bad, I thought I'd be the next patient in there._

_And I guess he saw my hands, no, no, that night he said he heard my bracelet jingling (even though I had taken off my bracelet for that class) and felt bad for me. So he came over, and remember, he was still behind me, so I couldn't see him-- and he whispered in my ear, "I see dead people. They're everywhere."_

_I had just seen the Sixth Sense a week ago and it scared me so much, and got me so angry, I was about to cry. I was furious. So I whirled around to look at him and there he was and all the sudden, I couldn't remember why I was just livid. It's so cliché, but it actually felt like we were the only two people in the world. _

_A room full of dead people, and I start believing in fate and true love and love at first sight and all that gushy stuff that makes you feel sick._

_And you wanna know something? After class, when we couldn't find anything that would indicate poison, Professor Ryner told us that in actuality, the guy had died of heart disease. We spent the entire time looking for the wrong thing. _

**XXXxxxXXX**

Cameron gently put her head back into her hands as Wilson slammed the door on his way out. It wasn't really her fault- she had already transcended denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and was well on her way to acceptance but Wilson was years and years behind her. She guessed he was placing his anger on her, and while that didn't do anybody any good, she could certainly understand his behavior. Cameron cringed slightly as she remembered some of the things she had said to Jamie, to her parents, to her doctors, to _his_ doctors, to Joe.

_Joe._

_Crap._

_Well_, she decided,_ I just won't bring Joe up until Wilson does._

With that settled Cameron got up and walked over to her closet, slowly examining each and every article of clothing she owned in preparation for tomorrow. The day she would, once again, meet Johanna Cathryn Wilson.

**XXXxxxXXX**

_Author's Note…I was thinking of incorporating Cameron's reunion with her daughter in this chapter, but I thought it would be too long and frankly, too irrelevant. This chapter was about Wilson having a very hard time coping with the death of his brother and all the things (and people) involved and Cameron being a pushover and being too accepting of Wilson's behavior. That said, get ready for Johanna Cathryn...once again, and thanks for all the lovely names!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer… I own nothing_

_Author's Note... I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. I only got three reviews last chapter! Maybe it's because I've been spoiled and have gotten quite a few reviews for the previous chapters or maybe people are losing interest (gulp.) Ok, just please review for this chapter! Thanks! Oh, by the way... Sorry if the procedure (not medical) I describe in this chapter doesn't ring true. It's a fanfic, it's not gospel, it's a minor detail and I feel like exercising my artistic license. Plus, I think it would have been annoying as an author (not really, I don't think I'm that good!) and a reader to delve into it._ _And last, but not least…loads of thanks to my awesome beta, **randomname**!_

**"Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree."**

-Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French aviator and author 

It is irony in its cruelest form that the things you most want to forget are the things you most clearly remember. Soft baby hair the color of champagne, fuzzy amber-brown eyes, the sweet, sweet smell that lingered on her skin, no matter how hard she tried to scrub it off. 

Johanna. They had chosen that name because it meant G/d's gracious gift. The definition never said that Johanna also meant unforgettable. Treasured. Haunting.   
But Cameron had long since learned that nothing was what it was said to be. Spouse, for instance, is a person to whom you are legally married. But what is married? Cameron had looked it up once; the dictionary said it was the legal union between a man and a woman as husband and wife. _Man, woman, husband, wife_. They were just words that someone had made up in a vain effort to grasp countless dimensions. Maybe the definition should just consist of the word _and_. It was simple, yet impossible to decipher. It was probably that way on purpose. 

Maybe when she got home, she would look up the word parent for the thousandth time. The last time she had checked, she had done a web-search. Perhaps it was a sign from the techno-gods that the site had really left a "be back in five minutes" poster when it had said: "We are currently updating our definition for Parent. We hope to have the definition for Parent in a few weeks. Please visit us soon."

**XXXxxxXXX**

Cameron gently smoothed down her skirt; a paradox of an action considering it was loose and was meant to be imperfect. She had chosen it because it was a deep red that reminded her of burnt cherries. It wasn't the taste that appealed to her; it was the notion that something so damaged could turn out so beautiful.

A door that looked heavier than Cameron opened and a woman who was sporting a bun that was twisted ten times too tight for her head emerged. This was Ms. Harding, Johanna's social worker, her knight in shining armor. As Cameron watched her take a seat opposite her, she wondered when exactly strong metal armor had been exchanged for linen suits.

Ms. Harding crossed her legs and opened up a manila file. "Ms. Cameron. Oh, I see here it says Dr. Cameron. Sorry about that. My name is Adina Harding. I believe we've met before?"

_Yes, we have. I was in a hospital gown. You wore a tweed skirt. You told me someone would give her a good home, and you would find that someone. When I handed Johanna to you, she cried._ _Don't you remember? _**  
**  
"Umm, yes. A couple days after Johanna, my daughter, was born."

"I see. And now you would like to use your visitation rights?"

"Yes, I would." Ms. Harding flipped to another page in the file and frowned slightly.

"Dr. Cameron, I have Johanna's best interests in mind here, so please don't be offended when I inquire about your intentions." 

"My intentions," Cameron faltered. 

"Yes. I need to know what kind of relationship you plan on instituting with your daughter…an informal relationship, a very close relationship, or even if you're considering reinstating your parental rights."

Cameron's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't even know I could do that. Johanna's got a new family; I mean I couldn't take her away from--" 

Ms. Harding put up her hand as if to calm Cameron down. "Dr. Cameron, Johanna was never adopted. We had a family, but they balked at the last minute. She's been in the foster care system her whole life—"

The words, like toxic carbon monoxide, sifted through Cameron's brain as a million more neurons than normal popped and fired and exploded and this was not how it was supposed to be. Suddenly, Cameron remembered an incident that happened to her when she was six: Her two older brothers had dared her to climb up the bricks of their neighbor's house. She had been hesitant, until Matt had told her that if Batman could do it, she shouldn't have a problem. Well, she didn't see a fault in this logic, so she closed her eyes and went ahead, feeling around the bricks like they were an ancient code she was trying to interpret. She had made it all the way to the second-story window when her small fingers had slipped from the wet ledge. It wasn't the unbridled feeling in the pit of her stomach that had given her nightmares for two weeks, nor was it the lack of feeling she had experienced for a long minute and a half after the fall. Rather, it was the millisecond sensation of knowing she was going to come toppling down, just like the cradle from the treetop. The miraculous thing about that day was that after her spine had readjusted itself, and Cameron could move her arms and legs again, she realized that she was completely unharmed, save for a few bumps and bruises. Sure, she had a scar on her heel but everybody thought it was adorable; it was in the shape of a heart. At first, she was afraid of it, and then it grew on her, now it completed her. 

Cameron realized that the reason for this memory revival wasn't because she knew she was about to get hurt. It was because she knew she was about to fall. Cameron snapped out of her reverie right before she heard fourteen fateful words leave the chapped lips of Ms. Harding: You can restore your parental rights if you wish and take her home in a few days. 

XXXxxxXXX

An exhausted Cameron rushed down the hallways of PPTH in search of her boss. She had never been so harried in her life. After undergoing some psychology something or other to prove she would be a competent mother and was an overall sane person, she had rushed down to the hospital to get some time off. On the way, her car had broken down and she had sat in the repair shop for two hours reading fishing magazines. Some eat their young. 

If she had it her way, she would have taken Johanna home that night and wrapped her in her arms and brushed out her hair and never let her go. But Johanna was in a Social Services home for the time-being and wouldn't arrive for a couple of nights. 53 hours, to be exact. For some reason, the Social Services home she was in was all the way in Seattle. Cameron guessed it had something to do with the family that was supposed to adopt her.

Cameron listened to quiet thump of her sneakers against the hospital floor as her running turned into a steady walking pace. She didn't even know if House would be in his office; if they had any new patients, she didn't know of them or their cases. It showed that House was rubbing off on Cameron, and she couldn't decide if that was good or bad. Turning the corner, she stepped into the office and numbly placed her purse on the glass table, not noticing her disheveled reflection.

She glanced at the empty whiteboard, thankful that she hadn't become so careless as to completely miss out on a case, and made her way into the small boxed off section that was House's office.

Where Wilson was. 

_Great._

The two hadn't noticed her presence yet; maybe she could just turn around and escape. Cameron quietly swiveled around and was almost at the door when House called out her name. 

Cameron turned resignedly back to the duo. "Yes?"

"Are you confused? You're the one who came in here, it's your job to offer something to the table," House challenged. 

Cameron anxiously looked at Wilson in what she hoped was somewhat of a discreet fashion. "May I speak to you in private?" 

"Oh. You want to talk about the thing at the place, don't you?" 

Cameron raised her eyebrows, as did Wilson. Finally, something they could agree on. "No." 

"Well, I simply can not fathom what is you are talking about. Pray tell?"

Wilson rolled his eyes as an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. "Ok, how many Vicodin have you had today?" 

"Only eight. Is that bad?" 

"It's frowned upon."

"So it's not bad, then."

"House! Shut up about the Vicodin and let me talk to you like an adult!" Both men were surprised by Cameron's outburst and turned to the weary woman. Finally, House looked at Wilson. "I bet somebody outside needs a great big Wilson-hug."

Wilson rolled his eyes as he left the room, but not before giving Cameron a very suspicious look. House watched his retreating form then turned towards Cameron. "Wazzup?"

"I need a couple weeks off." 

"You just had a couple days off." 

"Now I need a couple weeks off." 

"That's quite a lot." 

"Why are you arguing with me? We both know you'll give them to me." 

House eyed her curiously. "Yes, I will, but not until I know what you're doing. And don't try and pull an _I can't stand being around Wilson_ because I know you're both more mature than that." 

_And I know you're much less mature than that statement shows, but I guess nobody knows anything, now do they? _"I lied." 

"Why, Cameron, I'm shocked! Are you seriously trying to tell me people lie? Because I just don't believe it. Surely not everyone can lie. It's crazy!" 

"_You're_ crazy, but that's irrelevant."

House sighed. Cameron was much more fun when she gave him a wounded look as he poked fun at her. "What did you lie about?" 

"I said I never had a kid. I lied. I have a daughter," Cameron said, stressing the use of the present tense.

House's eyes widened slightly. "But in your medical file…it says you never took folic acid." 

"Well, looking into someone's medical file when you shouldn't be might raise some complications. House, why would I lie about this? What point would there be? And how would I cover it up?" 

House stood up and walked over to Cameron, so he was almost casting a shadow on her. "The question isn't how would you cover the truth up. It's how _did_ you cover that lie up." 

Cameron sighed and took a deep breath. "It was Bryan's. My husband's. Johanna was born six months after he died. I-- I couldn't keep her. I was still in school, I had no means of supporting her, and my family wasn't willing to help. You don't really understand…when you have a child, you don't want her to have what you had. You want it to be ten times better, you want to watch her soar, you want to see her do great things, and you want to see her have great things. Things I couldn't give to her that someone else could. I guess I knew it all along, that I wouldn't be able to do it at that time, by myself."

_And Bryan- he was just so excited.. He wanted that baby so bad. He lived a month longer than he was supposed to, and I just know it was because he wanted to see her. But he didn't-- he died about three weeks after we found out it was a girl. He said he was happy knowing that, because he knew it was all he was going to get. And he was the one that named her. Johanna. What a pretty name. It fit her so perfectly.  
_  
House sighed; he was struggling to uphold this conversation. "That's not what I asked. How did you get away with it?"

Cameron let the tears flow down her face and past her chin, mini ski-divers. "Like I said, I was in school. We had just learned how to differentiate a fake medical record from a real one, what to look for. So I knew exactly what to do and what not to do. I took it off my own medical record." 

"But why?" 

Cameron looked him in the eye, a hard, unwavering gaze. "So I could forget. So people like you couldn't force me to remember."


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything except the characters I create._

_Author's Note…Here's the new chapter, un-beta-ed due to a vacation on their part. Sorry if the grammar and such is less than perfect. Also, the first part of this story is told from Johanna's point of view…tell me if you like it or not…and yes, this means Johanna finally comes into the story!_

"**Whosoever wishes to know about the world must learn about it in its particular details.  
Knowledge is not intelligence.  
In searching for the truth be ready for the unexpected.  
Change alone is unchanging.  
The same road goes both up and down.  
The beginning of a circle is also its end.  
Not I, but the world says it: all is one.  
And yet everything comes in season."**

**-Heraklietos of Ephesos**

_Photographs, you know, are the absolutely, positively best way to spook somebody. They're just like ghosts. Not the nice ghosts like Casper, but the real nasty ones like The Flying Dutchman and other spirits whose feet don't touch the ground. That's why people only put up a few pictures in their house. One Foster-Dad said too many would hurt your eyes but he left in an extra word…too many just plain old hurt._

_Me, I make lots of mistakes, but I'm not a total idiot. I only keep one, count 'em, one picture with me. That's just one ghost, one spook, and one thing to keep track of. _

_It was taken on December 31, 1999. My birthday. I was born at exactly 11:59, no joke. And you can think about that however you want to. But anyway, I used to know to whole other people that have the same birthday. One of them is a foster lady and now she's a real mommy. She used to have a foster-kid but last month, she had her very own baby. The other one died last year. _

_I like the picture. I looked at it so much during the plane ride that I remember everything about it in my head. And I guess I mostly look like my dad (who Ms. Harding has told me a _little_ bit about) because I look nothing like the lady in this picture at all. She has reddish hair; I have hair that's the same color as almonds. She has nice, clear, skin and I have freckles that look like they're chasing each other from one side of my nose to the other. Maybe the only thing that's the same is that nothing is the same and I think that's a really stupid thing to share because it doesn't even make sense._

_I wonder if she thinks about me as much as I think about her, which is every single day, just so you know. I wonder if she made a double of the December 31 picture and has it on her dresser. I wonder if she is as nice as she looks. I wonder what her job is. I wonder if she'll think I talk funny, because I've lived in a bunch of places._

_Maybe instead of staring at that darn picture the whole plane ride, I should have been making an "I Wonder" list._

_The flight attendant that Ms. Melissa told to Keep-An-Eye-On-Me taps me on my shoulder and asks me if I'm ready to go. I'm not, and I try to tell her this, but she unbuckles my seatbelt anyway. She starts to march down the aisle with me, and almost grabs my hand, but I run ahead and push the other people out of my way. I don't even stop to get the cool pair of wing-pins the pilots always give out._

_I run so fast that I'm the second person that walks into the airport. I see Ms. Harding and she points to the kinda freaked-looking lady next to her, but I don't need anybody to tell me who it is._

_She has ripped jeans. Thank goodness she has ripped jeans because I suddenly can't imagine her without ripped jeans. Out of the blue, my cheeks feel wet and it's all because my mother decided to wear pants today that weren't totally perfect._

_My mother._

_She recognizes me too, and I know this because her mouth kinda drops and her eyes get all wet and everything about her softens up a little bit. That, or the old guy with the cane that's standing in front of me makes her feel funny._

_I don't know when I started running and I only know I _am_ running because I can hear my dirty sneakers hitting the ground. I see her crouch down real low to the floor so she's as short as me and open her arms so it's like she's this great big hole that I have to fill up._

_Finally, after running for a million years, I reach her and press into her. She feels warm. "Mommy," I whisper so quietly into her hair that I can't even hear it. "Honey," she answers. "Johanna."_

_That's exactly what if feels like right now; like I'm just a giant question mark and she's the even bigger answer._

**XXXxxxXXX**

Cameron always thought a good job would be at the airport. Being privy to all those tearful reunions would have been the perfect job for her. No terminal patients, no complications, no diagnosis's. No time of deaths.

But; apparently; it wasn't so simple. Because at airports, people also say good-bye. On her way to the terminal, Cameron had seen one couple breaking up; two parents sending their child back to college; and three power-suit mothers chatting quickly on their cell-phones to their daughters. _Terminal. _Fatal. Incurable. Deadly.

But…but this wasn't terminal anymore. Perhaps they should have an alternate name. Rebirth. Revival. Beginning.

Cameron twisted her head around to the child, her child, in the backseat, for a brief second. "How ya doing back there?"

Johanna's head popped up and her fingers left the small, toy rabbit she had worried between her hands. "I'm good." She paused. "How ya doing up there?"

Cameron grinned. "I'm good."

Johanna beamed. "Good." Suddenly hungry, she leaned over to the backpack she had brought with her on the flight for a snack. And noticed it was alone. "Mom!"

Cameron's heart jumped into her throat. "What is it?"

"We forgot!"

Cameron felt her blood pulse through her much faster than what was considered "healthy" as she mentally compiled a list of the possible things she could have left behind. "What did we forget?"

"My baggage!"

_Oh. The baggage. Damn irony. _

Cameron turned her head again. "Well, we couldgo back and get it now, or…"

Johanna smiled. "Or…?"

"Or, we _could _put it off until tomorrow and just get some dinner. What do you want to do?"

"The second choice. Definitely."

Cameron pressed her foot lightly on the breaks as she came to a red light. "So, that rabbit have a name?"

Johanna nodded slightly. "Tipsy."

Cameron's mind immediately raced to images of a drunken foster-parent naming it and thinking it funny. "Tipsy," she repeated.

"Yeah. Because when I got him I was learning to walk and I kept falling. Get it? Tipsy."

There was a breach in the conversation until Johanna broke the ice again. "Umm, when I called you _Mom _before; if you don't want I won't call you that anymore. I just didn't know what to say. I can call you Allison, if you like that. Or Ms. Cameron."

Cameron shook her head. "_Mom,_" she said, "is absolutely perfect."

Johanna pressed her face into the window and looked up at the dark sky, remembering when a few hours ago, she had been almost eye-level with it. "Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you know that the sky isn't really blue? We just think it is because that's all that we can see."

Well, of course Cameron knew this. She had long ago learned that nothing is at it appears to be.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything. The information I got about skiing was from the kidski website. (It's that plus The instructions are taken word for word, because I didn't want to screw that up, but you can probably tell which notes I added in. It's not the factual parts._

_Author's Note…Reviewers are the prettiest and most handsome people…please be one of them…I only got two reviews last chapter!_ _And, once again, loads and loads of thanks to my beta, **randomname**._

**"What a contrast between us! You live a warm and glowing life, surrounded by loved ones whom you care for and who care for you; you are anchored in contentment. I drift about without rudder or compass, a wreck on the sea of life; I have no memories to cheer me, no pleasant illusions of the future to comfort me, or about me to satisfy my vanity. I have no family to furnish the only kind of survival that concerns us, no friends for the wholesome development of my affections, or enemies for my malice." **

-Alfred Nobel, creator of the Nobel Prize

It was a mandatory part of Wilson's childhood that he learn how to fall.

He was halfway into his sixth winter on this Earth when his dad taught him to ski. The very first thing he learned, because it was the most important, was that if you can't avoid the topple; if it is inevitable; relax and do not fight it. If it is imminent; do not deny the power and go with it; flow with it; fall with it.

**XXXxxxXXX**

With the caution of a tightrope walker, Wilson slowly made his way down the narrow hallway, empty-handed.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Lower your hips and bend at the knees. You must be humble in order to save yourself.

**XXXxxxXXX**

_221. 222. 223._ Wilson paused at a door, taking the time to drink in every detail. The wooden frame was splintered and the handle was scratched. He knocked loudly on the door and two voices announced their approval at his entry. Slowly, he enveloped the handle in his hand. It was surprisingly warm. _224._

**XXXxxxXXX**

Begin to fall by sitting back into the slope, twisting your hips to an uphill side. This is the start of the pain that comes with demise and later; deliverance.

**XXXxxxXXX**

The scent of melted chocolate and waffles sifted through the air into Wilson's nose, even though it was 6:30 at night. He didn't take off his jacket and he didn't move onward. Instead, he found himself entranced by the picture on an oddly-colored end table. It was of Cameron and Bryan. Despite everything that had happened, everything that he now knew, he had never pictured them together. But there they were and Wilson couldn't help noticing that they looked good together. Happy.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Keep your arms up and forward, out of the snow, to protect your wrists. There are some things you must salvage in order to progress.

**XXXxxxXXX**

A little girl ran out from the kitchen and greeted Wilson, not knowing who he was. He couldn't help noticing that she looked exactly like Bryan. Wilson found himself rendered incapable of doing anything but gape. He didn't hear her remarks, even though she was definitely talking, and didn't notice himself being gently led to the kitchen, even though that was exactly where he was being led. An inferno.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Keep your skis below you, perpendicular to the direction in which you are traveling. Your body will act as the break as you touch the snow. Try to end up with your skis across the fall line or vertical. You will need the space to get back up again.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Wilson watched in silence as Cameron sprinkled a few chocolate chips over some waffles before she turned to him. She gasped slightly. "Wilson, you're…here."

Wilson stepped forward. "I know."

Cameron drew herself up a little bit. "Johanna, you wanna go draw a picture for me while I finish cooking? The fridge is looking kind of empty."

"But I was having fun," Johanna argued. Wilson observed in some twisted sort of awe as Cameron shot her a single look that made this girl, this niece of his, shrug and leave the room.

Wilson looked back towards Cameron. "That's his daughter." It wasn't so much a question, but a statement. A fact that had already been so far set in stone, there was no way of undoing it. 

"She's my daughter too. Johanna."

"Johanna," Wilson repeated. "Johanna."

Cameron gave a terse nod and folded her arms across her chest. "What are you doing here," she asked almost irately.

"I came to…" Wilson searched for the correct term to use. Help you? Help her? Help myself?

"Apologize, maybe," Cameron supplied. "For being a complete and total-"

"That too."

"Too? 'Too' implies apologizing for something already."

Wilson wiped his brow, not exactly remembering when he had gotten so hot. "The first thing would be to…"

Cameron shook her head sadly. "Wilson, I want this to work between the three of us. I really, truly, do. But it just can't until you've gotten your cards straight. It's not just me and you that would get hurt here. Johanna too. And she's the most important thing right now. I'm sorry but I just can't help you with this."

It was as though a wall made of fire and ice and wind had been constructed between the two. Every element was working against them. The two stood there, staring at this invisible barrier, trying to make eye contact, but failing miserably. 

Cameron shifted her feet. "You should go."

Wilson nodded and left quickly, brushing past Johanna on his way out. She ran into the kitchen.

"Who was that?"

Cameron looked down at her daughter, his daughter, their daughter. "That, sweetie, was a man I hope we have not seen the last of."

"I hope so too," Johanna remarked, even though she wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about.

**XXXxxxXXX**

After driving many miles with no clear destination, Wilson ended up at the graveyard. It's a nasty place to find yourself, he contemplated. Awful to figure out who you are next to your brother's frickin' tomb. 

Suddenly, Wilson was struck with a memory that he had had when he was ten years old. The family was skiing and Bryan kept falling down. It wasn't his fault; it was the skis. They were on the wrong feet. The whole family had been telling him this, but to no avail. Only six, Bryan was too stubborn to switch them. After watching him plummet into the icy snow for the hundredth time, Wilson had had enough and yanked the skis off him, with Bryan screaming the entire time. After ten minutes of sitting in the freezing snow, Wilson had finally succeeded.

Only to find that the feet weren't the problem. It was that the two were wearing each other's skis, and Bryan's were too big for him. 

Wilson had been too preoccupied with Bryan's problem to notice his own.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Figure out a position to get up from, and start over again.  
**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer…I don't own anything_

_Author's Note…Sorry it took so long for this to be posted…It took a while to write, but I hope you like it! And, on an off-topic note, I just wrote my first and second Harry Potter story! It's an oneshot…check out my profile if you want to read it…I think it's cute. (And yes, I know I'm shameless.) Oh, and one more thing: I need a new beta! If anyone would do it (please) say so in your (please) review. And I'll be dedicating this chapter to **randomname**, whose mad beta-ing skillz got this story through some tough times._

"**Darkness within darkness is the key to all understanding."**

**-James Frey, in _A Million Little Pieces,_ while talking about _Tao Te Ching_**

If given the choice, Wilson would absolutely prefer to be a giraffe. More than anything else, Wilson wanted be a giraffe.

It wasn't just their immense height that he envied, nor was it the supremacy of which they ruled over the African grasslands. It was their uncanny ability to sense danger. It was probably one of those "curse in a blessing" things, or perhaps a "blessing in a curse." Wilson had learned from one of his all-time favorite heroes, Spiderman, that with great power comes great responsibility. So, in actuality, the giraffe is the one that is plagued with all the guilt when a foal or baby gazelle or even calf is killed by a lioness. The giraffe should have noticed it coming. He should have seen the signs early on. The rustle of the tree; the stirring in the alfalfa; all hallmark signs of peril.

It was all the giraffe's fault. Blame the giraffe.

**XXXxxxXXX**

In the end, it wasn't the rap at the door that had drawn Cameron from her slumber, nor was it the persistency of it, but Johanna, who had crawled into Cameron's bed, nudging her awake. Cameron mentally scolded herself as she trudged to the door…a perfect mother should be much more attentive to details, even if she was asleep after an extremely long day.

"Who is it," Cameron called from one side of the door.

"Who else would come at 11:30? Unless you have a booty call that I'm not aware of. Is Chase here?"

Cameron rolled her eyes and yanked open the door, but didn't move an inch. "Hello, House."

"You gonna let me in?"

Cameron tried to close the door. "Good-bye, House."

But House wedged his cane in between the door and the wall, so he couldn't be locked out. "I don't think so."

Cameron crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

"Before I teach you some manners, young lady, I wanted to see how the little tyke was settling in."

Cameron gaped. "You, _caring_?" Then she smirked. "Your reputation might get hurt if word of this got around the hospital."

"I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation. Name that band."

"What?"

"Never mind. So, 'bout that tyke…"

"She's sleeping, as was I before I was so rudely awakened."

"You're going to be some fun mom."

Cameron's patience was beginning to run low. "House…"

"Fine, fine. Anyway, you remember you're coming back to work tomorrow?"

"That's exactly why I was trying to get a good night's sleep. Obviously, the powers that be don't appreciate my efforts."

"Obviously."

"But I do have a small issue with work tomorrow, and I don't know how long it will last."

House raised his eyebrows. "And that problem is…?"

"I just need to change my lunch hour to 2:30 to 3:30 so I can pick up Johanna from school and drop her off at the PPTH daycare. After a few weeks for Johanna to settle, I'll make some better plans."

"Isn't there a school bus?"

"To the hospital? No." Cameron paused for a minute. "Maybe if you would pay your taxes, the district could afford some more stops."

House smirked.

"No, seriously. When I enrolled Johanna the other day, all the lady could talk about was how nobody pays their taxes and now all the kids are going to be screwed up."

"And the children are the supposed to be the future. Well, that sucks. Good thing I'll be dead before that happens." He turned around to go.

"Joan Jett and The Blackhearts," Cameron said suddenly. "That's who sings 'Bad Reputation.'"

This earned a half-smile from House. "Go to a luncheon with Emily Gilmore and you'll be all set." And, as abruptly as House came; he left, leaving Cameron wondering when the hell her boss started watching _Gilmore Girls._

**XXXxxxXXX**

In the days and weeks leading up to Bryan's death, Cameron had wondered if she would ever be able to settle back into the normal world. Of course, she knew she herself would never be the same. It was impossible to enter a tunnel of chaos and mayhem, and come out unchanged. What she questioned was whether or not she would still be able to maintain some of who she used to before she was a wife, a widow, and a mother. Would she be able to still use the same shampoo without picturing it next to Bryan's? Would she have to get a new toothbrush holder, because the one she had now had one too many places to fill? Cameron had been so curious about it; she had even asked Joe. He told her that a spouse is really just another name for a witness. Someone who sees all your shining moments, all your low times, your triumphs, your defeats. But, then again, Joe wasn't the one who had to completely change all his toiletries because without their better half; they seemed completely foreign to him.

So it came as a complete surprise to Cameron the next day when dropping Johanna off at school and going back to work was as easy as stirring some fresh coffee and disproving Foreman's theory of vasculitis.

"So Cameron," Chase said while the team was tucked away in the lab. "What's up with you and Wilson?"

Cameron's whole body stilled, which did not explain her slightly shaky voice. "Oh, we're just carrying on a torrid affair in the elevator."

But Chase, apparently, was not a force to be reckoned with. It was an art; he had never met a question he couldn't deflect, and he had never met a person he couldn't get an answer out of. The gift was almost dangerous. "So the reason Wilson flees the room every time someone mentions your name is purely due to sexual tension?"

"Purely."

"Well, I know you don't suck, but I never would have guessed you have this strong of a sexual presence."

Cameron just shook her head. Frankly, the lie she had been living exhausted her, and she wanted nothing more to do with it. "I can't believe House didn't tell you."

"Me either; him and Wilson are just like two schoolgirls when it comes to gossip," Chase told her, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cameron rolled her eyes. "Chase, I have a daughter," she said simply.

Chase gaped and unceremoniously dropped the blood sample he had been holding. It fell to the floor with a crash, rather than a shatter. "You-wait-is it mine!"

"No!"

"Is it Wilson's?"

"Are you joking? No, she isn't Wilson's. I _have _a daughter. She's five, and in kindergarten."

It took Chase a moment to regain his composure. Then, he laughed. "Yeah, right. I've been to your place, and there wasn't even a dog there, let alone a kid."

Cameron sighed. She had absolutely no energy to explain. Cameron glanced at the clock and grinned; her savior. Two hundred and thirty was her new favorite number, right after six. "Lunch hour, got to go, bye," she said in one quick breath.

"But your kid," Chase called out behind her.

Cameron turned around and paused at the door. "Just talk to House, Chase. I'll see you in an hour."

To be fair, Cameron had given normalcy a try just after Bryan died. In typical fashion, she had balled up her feelings and did what she needed to do, never allowing herself time to grieve. It was a struggle unlike anything she had ever known. Every second of every day, her voice was laced with sorrow; her heart suffocated in the tears that were desperate to leak out of her. Everything was a strain. And the interesting thing was this; she knew the only person that could comfort her when she in this state was Bryan, and he was gone.

This had gone on for three weeks. After twenty-two days, Cameron had noticed some blood in her underwear, just like a red cloak. Her doctor, familiar with her "situation" as he called it, told her it was from stress and she had to give herself a break. That, or surely lose her baby.

Cameron gingerly opened her car door and as she drove, rolled down the windows. And wondered how long normalcy would last before she had to deal with a catastrophe.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Because Fate had a special type of loathing for Cameron, the patient of the week required all members of the team to work overtime. This resulted in Johanna eating dinner in the conference room, giving her plenty of time to be inspected like a specimen by House, Foreman, and Chase, despite the death glares Cameron sent them.

"So," House said, bouncing a small pink ball against the cool linoleum floor, "did you meet your uncle yet?"

"Uncle?" Johanna looked questioningly at Cameron.

"You'll get to know him soon, sweetie." If looks could kill, House would have already been cremated. "If you guys are just going to ask stupid questions, then I'm going home."

"You said the S-word," Johanna told her, ever vigilant.

"You're in trouble now, Cameron. You know I don't like words that start with the letter S." House leaned in towards Johanna and whispered loudly to her. "It's my least favorite letter."

Johanna gave a half-hearted giggle. "Mrs. Perdler told us that if we say a bad word, we have to give her an entire penny."

Cameron smiled at her. "I guess that means no bad words, huh?"

"Guess so."

Chase suddenly became very self-conscious, as if he were witnessing a private moment. "I still say it's Sturge-Weber Syndrome."

"And I still say I refuse to treat a patient whose disease begins with the letter 's'. Plus, Idiot McIdiot may be incredibly dumb, but he wasn't born yesterday. He was born thirty two years ago. And six days." House stuck out his tongue.

"But only _typical _cases present at birth," Chase persisted. "And we're a _Differential _Diagnostics department."

"Are you going to set that to music and orchestrate a dance routine?"

Chase crossed his arms.

"Fine, fine. Stop pouting. Get Idiot McIdiot an MRI. The rest of you can go home."

"Why do I have to say?"

"Because Foreman's got a girlfriend and looks like he needs to get laid, Cameron's got a kid that probably shouldn't have heard that, and I've got a computer with a very special "Favorites" list waiting for me at home, and she doesn't like to be ignored."

Cameron, sick of the banter, stood up. "Johanna, come on. Time to go home."

As the two left, Johanna could be heard saying before the door swung shut that her mother had a very interesting boss.

**XXXxxxXXX**

Exhausted from her transition into normalcy, Cameron took the elevator on the way down. They had gone past two floors without interruption, but on the fourth floor, the Oncology Floor, the door opened and in walked Wilson.

Cameron smiled wanly at him, but Johanna gave him a warm smile, not following her mother's lead.

"Hey, Cameron," Wilson asked absently. "If you could be any animal, which would it be?"

If Cameron found the question odd, she wisely didn't show it. "A Canadian Goose."

Wilson didn't know a lot about geese, but he knew enough to realize why she chose them. "It's because they mate for life, right?"

Cameron shook her head coolly. "No. It's because even a devoted goose can still find a mate after her first one dies."

Johanna looked up. "We had to do this in school today. I chose a butterfly."

"Because they're so pretty," Wilson asked, but instantly regretted it.

"Nope. Because you can almost always tell apart the ones that can hurt you from the ones that can't. The problem is," she said as she walked out of the elevator, just behind Cameron, "the poisonous ones are always the ones you want to catch."

Perhaps it was telltale that Johanna's last little fact did not surprise Wilson, not in the least.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer…I own nothing_

_Author's Note…Holy cow. I'm exhausted after writing this chapter. It's chock full of metaphors from beginning to end…extra points if you mention them in your review (hint, hint, nudge, nudge.) When I first began writing this chapter, with the conclusion in mind) I wasn't even sure if this was how I wanted to end it (you'll understand what I'm talking about when you get there…but don't skip! It won't make any sense!) but the idea had been in my head for so long and I know that some people won't like it. To those, I am sorry. I hope you enjoyed the rest of it. Plus…congratulate me! I managed to get through an entire story without basing a single chapter around a folk/country song! Or any other song! Woohoo! One more thing…I would just like to thank the various reviewers and my beta for being constant pillars of ideas and constructive criticisms. You guys know who you are--and you're awesome! Ok, last thing, I _swear: _ This chapter is totally unbeta-ed. I have read and reread it ad nauseam so I think it should be readable. I didn't want to use a beta…well, it's the last installment and it's got a pretty big shocker at the end, so I wanted to be very mum about it. No need to mock me! And now…the final chapter of **Rest In Peace**..._

**From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you,  
You are to die-let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate,  
I am exact and merciless, but I love you-there is no escape for you.**

Softly I lay my right hand upon you, you just feel it,  
I do not argue, I bend my head close and half envelop it,  
I sit quietly by, I remain faithful,  
I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor,  
I absolve you from all except yourself spiritual bodily, that is eternal, you yourself will surely escape,  
The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious.

**The sun burst through in unlooked for directions,  
Strong thoughts fill you and confidence, you smile,  
You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick,  
You do not see the medicines, you do not mind the weeping friends,  
I am with you,  
I exclude others from you, there is nothing to be commiserated,  
I do not commiserate, I congratulate you.**

**-Walt Whitman, _To One Shortly To Die_**

Wilson followed the duo out to Cameron's outdated Saab, despite the fact that he was still supposed to be at work. He was unable to keep a pace with them, which made him extremely uncomfortable. "You want to get some coffee or something," he asked desperately as Cameron tried to open her car door.

It wasn't Cameron that answered him, but Johanna. "No thanks. Do you want to come over for dinner?"

Cameron gave Wilson a warning look that very clearly told him no, he did not want to come to dinner. "I've got to eat with my wife," he lied.

"Oh." Johanna paused for a minute. "You don't have a wedding ring," she pointed out.

Wilson hadn't realized how sharp a child Johanna was, and was unprepared for her response. "I don't like to wear it at work," he faltered and looked at Cameron's hand, which, like his, seemed oddly naked without a ring. He had never even seen her wear one. "What's your excuse, Cameron?"

She looked rightly shocked that he challenged her in this way. "Mine's at home," she answered coldly. "I think you should go now."

Wilson gave a weak nod and retreated. Once he was out of earshot, Johanna looked up at Cameron. "How does he know your name? Does he work with you?"

Cameron, who was beginning to shiver as they were still standing outside the car, shook her head. "Not exactly. He works at the hospital, but not in my department."

"Then how does he know you?"

"It's…" Cameron would have loved to say that she saw Wilson from time to time in the corridors, but that wasn't the truth. At least not the whole truth. "Complicated."

Her answer didn't seem to sit well with Johanna. "How complicated could it be?"

Cameron laughed softly to herself. "You'd be surprised."

Johanna crossed her arms, her usually dormant temper rising. "Why can't you just _tell _me?"

Cameron sighed; she and her daughter had their slight differences, but they got along pretty well on the whole. This would be their first true fight. "Because Johanna, I'm _not ready yet. _Have you ever had to do something you weren't ready to do?"

"Of course I--oh." A sudden look of understanding flashed across Johanna's face. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

Cameron smiled. "Thank you." She looked down at her hands and stepped into the car. "So, do you think I need my wedding ring?"

Johanna shook her head and climbed into the car as well, being sure to strap herself into her seatbelt. "No. I'm not even going to get one when _I_ get married."

Cameron laughed, and backed out of her parking space. "Why not?"

"Because I'll love it, and I don't want to love something I'll probably lose."

Cameron's shoulders stiffened and she reminded herself that Johanna wasn't talking about her. There was no way; she did not know about her parent's marriage in its entirety. Her opinion had surely been shaped by the process of being moved from home to home, and constantly faced with the possibility of leaving something--or someone--she loved.

Ignoring the guilt that settled into her stomach, Cameron realized not just the similarities, but also the parallels, between Johanna and Bryan. The dominant one being, of course, that they were both the ones that got to say good-bye. For the first time, Cameron realized that being left behind wasn't the only way to get hurt.

**XXXxxxXXX**

In literature, you can always identify the turning point in the protagonist's life. Be it through a rite of passage, the death of the antagonist, sobriety (or lack thereof), or any other means, it always happens.

In Romeo and Juliet, it was when Romeo was banished from Verona. In Harry Potter, it was when evil came back to life. In Sam I Am, it was when Sam decided he would get over his pride and taste the green eggs and ham.

In Cameron's life, the turning point came on the next Saturday, when her daughter asked to see her father's grave.

**XXXxxxXXX**

**Cameron**

_We arrive at the graveyard at exactly 10:48, which happens to be an hour before Bryan's time of death, just so you know. A bird is chirping, Johanna is crunching a granola bar in tune with the snapping of twigs we step on, and all these sounds of normalcy are almost enough to make me go crazy. The cemetery is my private state of surrealism, and not being here alone is completely alien to me. _

_Kneeling down by the foot of Bryan's grave, I gather a few rocks and place them on top of it. "Mom," Johanna queries, confused by my behavior, "what are you doing?"_

_Her munchkin voice is nothing but a combination of sweetness and genuine curiosity, but it somehow rubs me the wrong way. "It's a Jewish tradition," I say evenly._

"_But you don't believe in G/d," Johanna counters earnestly._

"_No, I don't," I agree, fighting my temper, "but your dad did."_

"_Oh," Johanna replies quietly. She leaves it at that, because she is perceptive enough to understand that my flat voice leaves no room for argument. If we were anywhere but here, I would be immensely proud that we have come so far and she knows me so well, but we are here and this is now, and all I can manage is 'weakly grateful.'_

_Bryan and I; we were like conduction currents. Two molecules zooming along, only to eventually come together and form something beautiful; precious energy. Or, in our case, our daughter._

_Johanna sits Indian-style on the ground, the Earth swelling up below her. I watch her as she cautiously stretches out her bony arm to trace out the letters of her father's tomb. I can clearly make out a question forming behind her eyes, and I know exactly what it is._

_Silently, I brace myself for the future as I hear the sound of footsteps behind us._

**XXXxxxXXX**

**Wilson**

_As I make out their two forms in the somewhat foggy distance, the nagging feeling that I'm interrupting something raises its voice, but I ignore it. I'm quite good at that. It's not that I have no sense of right and wrong; I actually have a very acute judgment in that area. It's just that over the days, the months, and the years; I have learned how to wholly disregard it._

"_Didn't expect to see you two here," I say conversationally, despite the fact that we are in a graveyard, mourning the man that, if he weren't dead, would be offering up bad advice to us. _

_Cameron turns to me and the look in her eyes tells me that my nagging feeling was absolutely correct. The worst thing about that feeling? It is one to gloat. _

_I crouch down low to the soil and pick out a few pebbles. They are all smooth and rounded, as if they have been shaped by ferocious waters. "Johanna," I say clearly, "do you know that I'm your uncle?"_

_Johanna's eyes widen at this exposure. She turns to Cameron for validation. "Is he," she asks, her voice full of hope._

_Cameron eyes me and for a scary moment, it looks like she considers lying. Her mouth forms the word 'no,' but she catches herself in the nick of time. "Yes, he is."_

_Johanna shifts her whole body to me. "So, you were his…brother?"_

_I nod and Johanna grins, pleased with this revelation._

"_Did he look like you?"_

_I glance quickly at Cameron, and shake my head. "Not really."_

"_Oh," Johanna responds, disappointed._

"_It's you he looks like," I say promptly. _

_Johanna brightens up, like I have just made her whole world. _

_We sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in our own little universes, each contemplating Bryan's relationship with each other. I think his with Johanna and Cameron is much more significant. After all; he _chose _to be with them. He got stuck with me._

"_He loved you," Cameron says suddenly, reading my mind. "Talked about you all the time. Said you always teased him for running track when the real family sports were skiing and baseball." She laughs, somewhat bitterly. "Three months into our marriage, I put up a Yankees poster, and he told me that I had to take it down immediately or get a divorce because there was no way any wife of his could be anything but a Mets fan." _

_I nod; this sounds exactly like Bryan. "He always rooted for the underdog."_

"_I know." She pauses. "It annoyed the crap out of me."_

_Out of the corner of my eye, I see Johanna open her mouth to reprimand her mother for using the word 'crap', but I shake my head. She complies in resignation, but still, she complies. Apparently, blood relations are big with this kid._

"_We had the videotape of the '69 World Series," I tell both of them, "and every New Years Eve, we would watch it. My dad said--"_

"_--That it gave hope that good would always prevail. I remember." Cameron looks at me, waiting for me to continue. Wanting._

_It takes me a while. I am somewhat shaken that she has knowledge of this, of some part of mine and his youth. It is as though she has raped my childhood memories, my journal, and I know all too well that she can use the words any way she pleases. I cannot exactly determine what she is trying to do here--is she trying to challenge my story and my relationship with Bryan and Johanna or show me that she loved him too? She smiles weakly at me. I continue, adding flavor to my humble tale: "And, even though he knew that the Mets would win, he would be crazy anxious, like all the Mets fans were that year. It would even scare my--our--mom. And then, when they won, he would go crazy and he would be so excited that he wouldn't be able to sleep and the two of us would always do something stupid that night. And spend the rest of Winter Vacation grounded."_

_Cameron nods, and, in that moment, we are in perfect understanding of each other. This is so new an experience, and, to be frank, it scares the crap out of me. My breath is shallow and my fingers are shivering even inside my coat pocket, and my car, almost a mile away, is beckoning to me, but I make no motion to move. This is probably my only chance to truly redeem myself, and I'm sure as hell not going to let it go._

**XXXxxxXXX**

**Johanna**

_Before you begin life, before you begin to really live, it is very, very, important that you know that every single plan you make, even the best ones, are going to be destroyed._

_I'm not being gloomy. It's the truth, even though I know you don't want to believe it. And while you have your whole brain yelling at you not to believe this crazy little kid here, there's a much quieter voice right above your heart telling you that I'm sorta kinda right. That's the one you should listen to. It's like one of my foster-moms said about me: Still waters run deep. I'm the still water. Unlucky for me; I'm also the one who's drowning in it. It sounds weird; but it can happen. It usually does; in the end, you're the one to kill yourself._

_You want to know exactly how I know about this plans thing, because if the whole map of your life that you drew when you were a little kid is about to be thrown down the toilet, there has to be a good reason. Well, there is a reason. It's not a good reason, and it's not a very solid one, but it's there. _

_It is because G/d, Satan, Jesus, Buddha, Big Bird, or whoever you believe in, already made one up for you. And I promise; this map will wreck your own. _

_And don't think this excuses you from all the bad things you did. I tried that…I told my teacher that it wasn't my fault I dipped snotty Lori Cooper's hair in paint, it was G/d's, but she said that He also gave me free will. I had the choice to do right or wrong, and I chose wrong. _

_Anyway, He or She or Them or It have already decided a bunch of things. Most of them are going to screw everything up. I know this because not ten whole minutes ago, I had a plan to ask my mom how my dad died. And not two whole minutes ago, I could tell my mom had a plan to make everybody happy. And not one minute and 59 seconds ago, some old man stood at the grave next to my dad's and started crying._

**XXXxxxXXX**

Wilson, Johanna, and Cameron all stared at this wizened man, all shocked to different degrees that he had broken up their little pow-wow of sorts. Cameron peered over Johanna's shoulder and read the grave quietly to Wilson and Johanna. "Esther Tillerman. Born October 28, 1920. Died November 1, 1980. Gone, but not forgotten."

"Was that your wife," Wilson asked loudly and somewhat rudely.

The man--Mr. Tillerman--looked over and nodded.

"She died twenty-six years ago," Wilson calculated aloud, almost coldly.

Mr. Tillerman nodded again. "Of cancer."

"She was lucky. She got a good sixty years in."

"No, she wasn't," Mr. Tillerman argued. "Cancer. Do you realize what kind of death that is?"

"I do," Cameron put forth in a strained voice. Wilson nodded defensively.

Mr. Tillerman looked kindly toward Cameron, then harshly at Wilson. "Then _she'll _know exactly what if feels like to have your spouse begging you to let her die."

_Yes, I do know what that feels like, _Cameron silently agreed. _And I listened._

**XXXxxxXXX**

**Bryan**

_When I was twelve, and my paternal grandfather was dying, my mother said to me that as she was aging (but never reaching past forty), she had been coming to understand that as people get older, they look forward to the peace of death. My somewhat immature mind thought this was the single most morbid thing that woman had ever uttered. My hands, which were admittedly as immature as my mind, slammed themselves over my ears and I refused to listen any more. _

_When I was a slightly more mature twenty-one, and nearing the end of my life at an alarming speed, I wished I had stuck it out to hear what she had to say, for I had begun to understand what she meant entirely too late. I was exhausted of living. I knew it wasn't due to depression or cancer or chemo or anything except for the simple fact that the big pie in the sky (as my body died quicker than my mind, my mind began to rebel against everything it knew…a phase that lasted an entire twelve days. On the twelfth night, my wife told me she was pregnant) already had a plan for me. A plan which included dying at twenty-one. My body was only prepared to live 7,665 days, give or take. It only had 2,797,725 hours worth of heart beats, 11,037,600 minutes worth of deep breaths. Unfortunately for me, I didn't find this out until the grim reaper in a lab coat let me in on the arrangement._

_I tell you this now so that you will understand why, when lying in my too-small hospital bed, I told my wife that I wanted her to kill me._

_First off; you have to understand the incredible amount of pain it takes for some people to die. My body was like the ancient Japanese samurai fighters; If a samurai knows he is going to die in battle or to avoid capture (among other reasons), then, by law, he will go out in the most agonizing way possible. It is the practice of ritual suicide called 'seppuku', and it includes ripping out your own guts and then being beheaded. Of course I could have used drugs, but I was as proud and as stubborn as an ass and I didn't want to be drugged up on pain medication. I thought it was cowardly. Did I not mention that samurai didn't use morphine? Hell, they saved being beheaded for last._

_Second off; I know it is clichéd, but you don't know what it is like to be me. I'm not being 'emo' (as my neighbor's teenager would so wittingly call it) and I'm not being moody. I'm being bluntly honest. Unless the grim reaper (doctor, shmoctor) has told you that no, you would not live to meet your child and that your death would probably be painful and unless you have almost purposely driven your wife into the arms of your best friend because you're just so damn _angry_, then you will probably never 'get it.' _

_My wife. My poor wife. She knew what I was going to ask her to do before I even opened my mouth, and she cried and begged me not to. I took her hand in mine and told her what I already knew; I was going to die today. It was going to be painful. It was only a few hours away. Let me die with a little dignity. _

_Really, I didn't have to convince her. She would do it, not because she was a pushover (she really wasn't), and not because she loved me (she really did), but because she respected me. It's so much harder to come by than the other two, but she had it for me and I had it for her. It was a beautiful thing._

_It was as though I had _finally _understood at least a half of the plan that was written out for me. Of course I fell in love with a medical student. Of course I did. Of course she knew exactly how much drugs it would take to overdose me. Of course at that point, my body was too weak to react in any way other than death. Of course no sane doctor would bother to do an autopsy on a man who practically died the day he was scheduled to. Of course. Of course. Of course._

_And of course I'm looking down at my wife, my strong, beautiful, wife and my sweet, sweet, daughter with such a big future and so much potential, and my brother, who, after all these years, finally seems to have gotten it right, and my tombstone. What can I say? I guess the three of them were meant to be. _

_You know, wedding rings are, in general, a paradox. On one hand, you have the gold which is one of the weakest minerals on this Earth. And on the other hand, you have the diamond, which is one of the strongest minerals on this Earth. Diamonds are the cockroaches of jewelry. You can dip them into molten lava; subject them to scorching 2,000 degree temperatures; send them to the sun; but they won't melt. They'll burn, because everything can get hurt, but they will not die. Chemo cannot kill it. Cancer cannot kill it. Death cannot kill it. They will burn, but they will never catch fire. I will die, but I will never really be dead. _

_It is very typical that along with being a Geology minor, I was also an English major, so I also know it to be true that nothing gold can stay. The practically conflicting fields of study have left me with a mathematical equation, which, although unexpected, has proved to be very useful. _

_Combine something everlasting with something that is destined to die and what do you get? Well, my friend, that would be a marriage._


End file.
